


Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth

by misura



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Kink Negotiation, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Goodnight keeps ruining his shirts. Billy is not amused.





	Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth

It was a sad world, Goodnight thought, where a man and another man couldn't sit down and be left in peace to have themselves a couple of drinks.

"My favorite shirt, Billy," he said. "And now look at it." Caked with mud and blood, both of which might come out. Showing several tears, which might with a sufficiently skilled effort still be mended.

"Are you hurt?" Billy's hands were roving in a fairly intimate sort of way, although nothing so daring Goodnight wouldn't have put up with it from a medic.

Goodnight sighed. "My shirt, Billy."

Billy leaned back. "You're fine."

"By a certain definition of fine, I am indeed." Goodnight tried to recall if he'd had the presence of mind to top off his flask before the evening had headed towards trouble of the sort that enabled less scrupulous men to make off with some drinks that hadn't belonged to them. "Yourself?"

Billy scoffed, as well he might. Some days and nights, Goodnight was convinced the only thing capable of hurting Billy was his humble self. Not by design, obviously, but via simple association.

A more selfless man might have felt spurred into rash action by such dark thoughts. Goodnight, on account of being a selfish son of a bitch, preferred to emphasize the advantages of their keeping company, those being of both a financial and a more personal nature. If Billy ever wished to leave, Goodnight would bid him a fond adieu and let that be the end of everything.

As long as Billy chose to stick around, Goodnight felt only the smallest pang of conscience keeping him.

"My favorite shirt," he repeated sadly.

"It's dirty and you're wet," Billy said. "You should get rid of it. Let me warm you up."

Goodnight sighed. "You do it, Billy. I haven't the heart."

Billy muttered something under his breath. On the few occasions Goodnight had asked, he'd steadfastly refused to tutor Goodnight in his native tongue, claiming it was too complicated for a man of his intellectual capacities and advanced age, an argument Goodnight had not felt equipped to find fault with.

"Suppose I'll promote my second-favorite," he said.

"Your second-favorite was your third-favorite last week," said Billy. "Your fifth-favorite, the week before that."

"The price we pay for living the life we do." Shirts weren't inexpensive, true, but even so, Goodnight considered the money lost on them well-spent. Better-spent if used to buy Billy something nice and new, but it wouldn't do to acquire an abundance of luggage. A pair of saddlebags only held so much.

"Goody," Billy said.

Goodnight sighed. "Mon cher?"

"You have to stop doing this. It's a waste. Shirts cost money. You want me to do something, just ask."

"Hard to ask for something when you don't have the words for what it is," Goodnight said. "I mean, I know, Billy - don't think I don't know the cost of a good shirt, or even a poor one, mended once too often for the sake of economy. It's a sickness, laid upon me."

Billy made a rude noise. "It's not a sickness. You like it."

"Almighty help me, I do. But it's not right, Billy. I ask you, what sort of man wants another man to do that? To put a blade within kissing distance of his own bare skin? I lie there, Billy, meek as a lamb under your knife, thinking of what might happen, and it fires my blood like a fever."

"You like it," Billy repeated. "So stop pissing me off by acting like an idiot."

"But Billy, you see, I am an idiot," said Goodnight. "Getting a mite chilly, too, now that you mention it."

"I cut off your shirt, it'll be worse."

"What happened to the offer of you warming me up, after?"

"I changed my mind," Billy said, his expression leaving only some small doubt as to his sincerity.

Goodnight considered arguing. It seemed somewhat unfair, to have bared his soul only to be punished for having done so at Billy's own urging. "Anything I might do to change it back?"

"I'll think about it," said Billy.

Goodnight supposed he would have to content himself with that less-than-promising answer. There might also be some merit in setting out to do by hand what Billy had refused to do by blade. It would be a lengthier process, most likely, but there being little else to occupy his time, it would do well enough. Besides, for all his tough words, there was a core of softness in Billy that might be appealed to, provided one was willing to sacrifice one's dignity.

True enough: "Goody. Come over here before you accidentally hurt yourself."

"Yes, Billy."


End file.
